Most of us don’t have the freedom to complain much at work. Work has been an obligation since Adam and Eve found themselves east of Eden. We are still enchained by the dull necessity of earning our bread, yet we cheerfully insist, to ourselves and one another, that we labor freely.

I am a Libra of Libras, an inveterate balancer of opinions. My scales rarely tip to one side; my cons stack up against my pros. Count on me to discern the downside to upside, and the upside to down. If you want an unequivocal statement, I’m not your fellow — at least not usually.At work, an ambivalent disposition can be an obstacle. Employers want to see passion. If you don’t love your job, you’re expected to act as if you do, and every so often, in performance reviews and presentations, you are called upon to articulate unalloyed enthusiasm.A decade ago I was interviewed by three academics for a teaching job at a university. The final question went something like this: Would you describe yourself as a passionate teacher? A silence fell over the room; it lasted much too long. I’d surely lost the job by the time I cleared my throat and began to qualify an answer I’d yet to give. The truth was I didn’t consider myself a teacher at all — I hadn’t been in a classroom in years. I stumbled my way through a circuitous reply and concluded by saying that, yes, actually, I suppose I could describe myself as passionate, in a sense.In a sense. I couldn’t resist the qualification. It was like a nervous tic. Moments later, the interview was over and I was leaving the room. As I shut the door behind me, the committee erupted into laughter.Thankfully, I did manage to land a job, one I greatly enjoy, and now find myself on the other side of the hiring process. This winter I am serving on a committee charged with interviewing applicants for a new professorship here at the Maryland Institute College of Art. Wary of lawsuits, the school has seen fit to train me and my colleagues on what the law permits us to ask applicants. All questions, H.R. has advised, should relate to three core concerns: Can the applicant do the work? Will the applicant fit in? Will the applicant love the job?I was surprised to learn that love is now considered essential to the employment relationship. Some of us are lucky enough to have lovable jobs, but this strikes me as an extreme standard to apply with respect to most positions.Consider customer service, in which high enthusiasm is often a requisite. Disney sets the standard in this realm, and anyone who’s been to Disney World knows why. All employees who interact with the public are considered members of the “cast.” Custodians, concessionaires, crowd control staff — in the Magic Kingdom, they are all expected to perform as if they love their work.I was there with my family a few days before New Year’s, and the crowds were bone-crushing. At times you could not take a step without clipping a child’s heels. No matter: The staff was unflappable, their smiles relentless. I recall one employee standing outside a restaurant, charged with telling people that the restroom was to the left. She did this time after time, grinning all the while, as the crowd bore down on her.If Disney is fanatical about customer service it’s because Americans are, too. Who are the lunatics who rage online about faulty restaurant service? When I waited tables at Pizza Hut, there was no Yelp. The most customers could do was gripe to the peevish manager, who would duly scold me. I had no spunk for serving pizza, and I don’t see why I or anyone ought to have had it.Tips mattered, but not so much as that. I feel for the waiters of the world who can’t afford to frown or complain of sore feet.Most of us don’t have the freedom to complain much at work. There’s something a touch tyrannical about this condition. Our Protestant work ethic has blended with contemporary notions of self-actualization to create a situation in which we are all expected to whistle like Disney dwarfs.Work has been an obligation since Adam and Eve found themselves east of Eden. We are still enchained by the dull necessity of earning our bread, yet we cheerfully insist, to ourselves and one another, that we labor freely.When I lived in Eastern Europe more than a decade ago, I found that people had a more moderate approach. People did not seem to feel the need to love their job or even talk much about it. You could become well acquainted with someone without finding out what he did for a living. When the subject did come up, it seemed to be beside the point. The real action of life — the singular life of the mind, soul and body — was elsewhere, wrapped up in private pursuits, away from the workplace.That may have had something to do with the size of the economy there. It’s not easy to be thrilled about work when opportunity is scarce. Admittedly, the dynamism of Western capitalism depends upon people who work with missionary zeal, who refuse to accept that a job is merely a job. It must be something more — a vocation, an adventure, a journey to higher heights.I often do feel this way about my work, but I’d rather not feel obliged to profess my enthusiasm. I’ll keep my chin up; on a good day I might even whistle. But please don’t ask me to smile if I’m not in the mood.